This is a fugue of sheer oomph.

Talk talk talk
I’m spry in my motives, underhanded
getting back to catch the slapdash in how it works.
You may have noticed we’re on the side of gonzo,

abhorring vacuum when a jet gate opens to our drawing room,
vibrato and sunlight close their distance. Notice they
never saw it coming, old and new senses strung out on sectionals,
an untapped daycare facility of oblique pup scents and puckish

flair. Someday all this will be yours. 500 blocks
that lean socialist purring with snappy dialog, steeped in
a plaited glow living chronologically to under-simulate amounts enclosed.

I’m spry in my motives, underhanded
getting back to catch the slapdash in how it works.